


variety is the spice of life

by Bugggghead



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, a collection of tumblr drabbles, and it's been eating my prompts, because i don't trust tumblr, i'm posting them in this little multichapter fic, one shots, so instead of losing them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:34:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: A collection of drabbles previously posted on tumblr. I'll add chapters as I publish tumblr fics so they aren't lost to the great online abyss.





	1. The necklace.

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s a little pre-canon bughead moment from childhood.
> 
> drabble & graphic made for Action/Adventure - Week 3 Day 5 of Camp Bughead by @buggiebreak (part of the@bugheadfamily discord)

*

Archie’s sixth birthday was unsurprisingly Jurassic Park themed, just as his last two had been. Despite the movie being over ten years old at the time, everyone knew Archie was obsessed with dinosaurs in the same way many young boys were. Archie insisted they watch the movie after cake, just the three of them when the party was over. It was tradition after all and Betty was surprised the VHS hadn’t busted yet, considering how many times it had been played.

Betty still remembered her spot on the couch, wedged between her two best friends with a pillow in her lap, armed and ready for the particularly scary scenes. Archie would laugh each time she’d cover her face, wincing at the sight of the blood-stained teeth that she would never admit haunted her nightmares for over a year. A few minutes later, without fail, Jughead would lean into her, bumping her shoulder to signal that the scary scenes were over; she would always shoot him a gracious, toothy grin. She tried her hardest to endure, to watch the whole thing, but when Alice knocked on the door with twenty minutes left in the film, she didn’t even feign protest, eagerly following her mother as soon as she hugged her best friends goodbye.

Monday morning, on the walk to school, Jughead approached her and pulled something out of his pocket as she stared in wonder.

“Here,” he said with no further explanation, uncerimoniously shoving the chain affixed with a plastic toy into her hands.

“Juggie, what is this?”

“I made it for you. I just thought it might help when you get scared. Mom always tells me that fear is weak and you’re not weak, Betts; so this will make you strong.”

She quirked her little eyebrow, confusion painting her features as she stared down at the tiny plastic dinosaur with a haphazard hole and a chain running through it. It was a necklace.

“I love it,” she said instantly, smitten with its vibrancy. “Thank you, Juggie.”

Her giggle made him blush, just a bit, but even as a child, under the sun’s harsh rays, she could see the tint. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and a kiss to his cheek before looking back down at the necklace.

“I didn’t want you to be scared anymore, Betts. I just wanted to show you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Not even dinosaurs.”

While his childlike logic wasn’t entirely flawed, it also wasn’t entirely fleshed out. It wasn’t as if the necklace would stop her from ducking her head for the hundredth time when they all watched the movie again. It wasn’t as if the necklace alone could dissuade her fears, but she found herself toying with it anyway when she would inevitably get scared, running her fingers over its tiny ridges and averting her eyes, the toy was her shield, no need for a pillow.

She still had the necklace at sixteen, on that fateful day that would forever change her life. As Jughead ascended the ladder to her window, the tiny, toy necklace was safely tucked in her jewelry box only feet away from their first kiss. While she no longer needed it, she wanted it, and she still wore it from time to time, in the privacy of her bedroom because sometimes she needed a reminder that she was stronger than her fears.


	2. The Dance of Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> First off, LOVE. YOU. YOUR. WORK. IS. AMAZING. okay now since I got that off my chest. you don't mind and hopefully, I'm too late would you do the numbers 5 and 7. xoxo
> 
> First off, LOVE. YOU. YOUR. ASK. IS. SO. NICE. OMG!!! And of course! I’d love to write you something (I KNOW I’M SO LATE SOORRRYYY!)
> 
> 5\. “You just took my breath away.”
> 
> 7\. “Keep singing please I love your voice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of cheated on this one, too. This is inspired by a prompt from this list from an anon BUT it was also written to Week 4 - Day 6 - A bun in the oven (though it just came out so oh well) for Camp Bughead by @buggiebreak (part of the @bugheadfamilydiscord)

If anyone had ever told Jughead as a child that he’d marry Betty Cooper, he would have laughed. People like Betty, people so genuinely good to the core, so positively radiant that it was nearly blinding at times, weren’t supposed to end up with people like him. The fairytales always said the princess married the prince, and in his younger years, he was certain that prince had red hair and lived next door to her. But at twenty nine, in a small apartment in Boston, staring at her holding their newborn daughter, he felt as if he had cheated the stereotype, gotten the princess he knew he didn’t even deserve, and found his own version of happily ever after.

He had dozed off on the couch a short while before, utterly exhausted from the late night feedings he always tried to help with. It was the melodic sound of her voice that shook him from his slumber, the angelic tone singing a lullaby he only vaguely recognized. She hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, so he laid there and studied her, rocking side to side, singing softly to little Alice. The name had been her idea, her mother passed a few years back after a surprise diagnosis and despite their sometimes tumultuous relationship, he knew Betty had loved her deeply. So when she suggested it, he readily agreed, willing to bend to her every wish if it meant it would bring her even the smallest bit of happiness.

He rose from the couch groggily, his motions slowed from the stiffness that came with sleeping on the uncomfortable couch. Despite his relatively quiet rise, she still turned at the sound, her lips curling at the edges when she saw he was awake. She had stopped signing, and he thought that was a travesty in its own right as he slid behind her.

“You just took my breath away, baby,” he whispered, knowing if his voice raised even a fraction higher, Alice may stir in her arms.

“Juggie-”

“Keep singing please, I love your voice,” he whispered in her ear, settling his hands on her hips and rocking with her as she moved.

The soothing lilt of her voice propelled their motions as they swayed side to side in the tiny living room, the enchanting dance of domesticity enveloping him in the purest joy he had ever felt.


	3. you still owe me a dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> 37 & 39  
> Hi there! I am SO SO SORRY this has taken so long. I hope you like it, anon! <3 - K
> 
> 37\. “You still owe me a dance.”  
> 39\. “I’m not even gonna lie I love this.”

“You still owe me a dance,” Betty teased, sauntering over to him at the corner table in the nearly unrecognizable gym. **  
**

It was homecoming their senior year, and while Jughead had agreed to go with her, he never promised a dance. But semantics didn’t matter when she was dressed in the pale pink, silk gown. The way it hugged every curve, smoothing over her lithe frame and accentuating her figure made him get up.

He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on her, feel them splayed against the soft silk, warmed by her skin just beneath the surface. So he obliged, nodding and grabbing her hand as she led him back to the dance floor. Jughead wasn’t a high school dance kind of person, but with Betty dressed like that, with him knowing she wore nearly nothing underneath, a dance wasn’t such a bad thing.

His arms settled around her waist as the soft sounds of a ballad flowed through the speakers, coating the room in an ambiance he would, albeit reluctantly, dub romantic. When her arms wound around his neck, he pulled her closer, flush against his itchy suit and the hard planes of his chest. They spun idly in circles, her head dropping to his shoulder, cheek pressed to his lapel as he dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m not even gonna lie,” he whispered into her hair, “I love this.”

He felt her smile before she pulled back, but even though he had seen it a thousand times, for a thousand different reasons, seeing her smile at him in that instant still turned him into metaphorical mush.

He’d dance with her every day for the rest of their lives if it earned him that same beaming smile.

“I love you,” she said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to lips.

“I love you, too.”


	4. hey jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked @thenurseholliday for help breaking through my writer’s block and she provided a fun prompt (in bold). Somehow it morphed into a fluffy little canon divergent drabble from episode 1x05. Titled from Gin Blossoms - Hey Jealousy. Hope you enjoy.

*

**“I hope you had fun on your date with whatever his name is.”**

Betty rolls her eyes as she walks into the Blue and Gold office. He’s leaning against his desk, flipping through an old issue she knows for a fact has zero interesting material nestled between its pages. For a fleeting second, she thinks he might have been waiting for her - maybe even hopes so, attempting to look busy; but she brushes the thought aside as she sets her bags down. “It’s Trev, Jug, and it was for research. It wasn’t exactly a real date.”

“Hmm… I’d have to disagree. Dinner and a movie sure sounds like a date to me.” His eyes are narrowed as he tilts his head to the side, lips pursed.

“Juggie,” she coos, drawing out the last syllable and leaning against the front of her desk, a mere foot between them now. She traps her lips between her teeth and catches his gaze. Every ounce of her bravado is put to the test as she asks, “Are you… jealous?”

“Pfft,” he scoffs, the same feigned disinterest she’s seen from him innumerable times before. But the thin veil of nonchalance is just that.  **“I’m not jealous, you just totally knew I wanted to see that movie.”**

“Sure, Jug, whatever you say,” she dares. But he doesn’t respond. As seconds tick by, she can feel warmth slowly seeping onto her cheeks. Betty dips her head, fidgeting with her skirt when she sees his feet step forward, one than the other, stopping just short.

Her breath is caught in her throat when he mumbles, “Also-”

Slowly lifting her head to meet his gaze, her voice softens. “What?” The single syllable hangs heavy between them. He’s looking at her, but his lips don’t move, silence making the scant space feel as if it’s widening by the second. His expression entirely unfamiliar when she asks “What?” again, a hint of exasperation from his mere proximity weaved in her word.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead he moves, leaning into her and her eyes flutter shut.

All at once, she feels it - the soft pressure of his lips pressing against hers, the featherlight touch of his fingers grazing her jawline and slipping around her neck, his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh. The kiss is overwhelming, heavy, weighted with the importance of its implications; but when he presses harder, her rationale sips away. The last thing that registers is simple - nothing has ever felt quite so right.

*


	5. "You’ve always got me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the ask, @arsenicpanda! Hope you enjoy this little drabble.
> 
> Canon missing moment/divergent - 1x1 - school dance

*

 

Betty’s soft sobs float away on the wisps of wind, trailing around the building, growing louder as she approaches, and seeping into Jughead’s senses. He’s only heard her cry a few times, but never without reason and more often than not, filtered through a door giving her some semblance of solitude. Turning his head, his breath catches at the sight before him. She’s rounded the corner of the building, wiping black smudges across her cheeks as tears slide down and trail over her quivering lips.

 

Last he saw her, she had her arms around Archie’s neck and a smile he wished was directed at him for once in the middle of the dance floor. From his spot in the gymnasium, he had watched it all unfold. Needing to take a breather from the sight of his two best friends wrapped up in one another, he’d found himself outside just moments before. It wasn’t as though he was unaware of her affections, but that didn’t stop the ache in his own chest at the sight. But now, with black trails marring her cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, he knows something must have gone wrong.

 

“Betts?”

 

Taking a few tentative steps toward him, she looks up and sniffles, wiping her cheeks and clearing her throat. “Sorry, Jug. I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

 

“Are you - okay? What happened?” He’s afraid of the answer as soon as the words slip out of his mouth.

 

Her lip quivers, tears pooling in her eyes. “I um, I told - uh - Archie,” she finally says followed by a choked sob.

 

Without another word, he takes the two steps separating them and wraps her in his arms. As she melts into his chest, sniffling and sobbing, he already knows. “Shhhh, Betts. You’ve always got me.” Despite the thumping in his chest as her arms tighten around his waist, he knows it’s true, even if it hurts. Even if he isn’t who she wants, even if it’s never more than this, she’ll always have him.

 

*

 


	6. possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii! I know it's been a while since I posted anything but i hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> huge thanks to breathewords/bettscoopr for looking this over for me!

Swinging her feet off the edge of the porch, Betty tilts her head back and closes her eyes. She can feel the pulse of the music in the palms of her hands splayed against the wooden slats of the deck. Humming along, she looks up at the twinkling stars dotting the inky night sky. Clouds curl around the spots of light, swimming in and out of the glow from the full moon. 

 

She thinks she may be glowing, too. 

 

She’s warm all over and pleasantly buzzed from the mystery drink Veronica simply called Lodge’s Libation before insisting Betty needed at least two to catch up when she’d arrived. Veronica’s parties are always overcrowded and it isn’t the first time Betty has found herself sequestered outside in desperate need of fresh air. She hadn’t even planned on coming to the party tonight. But Jughead was working late and she'd refused to sit at home watching the clock tick the hours away until he tapped on her window. 

 

He'd texted her a few minutes ago that he was on his way and the telltale fluttering in her chest had yet to subside. 

 

They'd only been officially dating for a few months. Fresh off a heartbreak that wasn't nearly as damaging as she'd expected, he'd opened her eyes in more ways than one. At the tender age of five, a backyard wedding with a Halloween costume and Ring Pops had convinced her Archie Andrews was her soulmate. But when his wandering eye and thinly veiled lack of interest had become too transparent to look past, she’d realized the childish daydreams she’d entertained were better left in the past.

 

Staring at the stars once more, she thinks of the infinite nature of the universe. So many specks of light and even more hiding in the depths of the darkness. She thinks of all the places yet to be explored, of all the corners of the universe kept in perpetual darkness and the light-years it’d take to get to them. 

 

She thinks about the sheer volume of stars glittering in the sky and all the possibilities that they may contain, about all the other possibilities any life may contain and the myriad of moments that makes up her own. She also thinks of all the ways life twists and turns, endless outcomes decided by singular actions. One right after the other and no two the same. 

 

Then she thinks maybe it'd be a shame if any one thing had gone even the slightest bit different in her own life. If she'd made a different choice once and where she might be now if things hadn't gone exactly as they did. Images of quirked lips and simmering stares fill her mind and she thinks she likes exactly where she is in the wide world of possibilities. She thinks that maybe this universe is perfect as it is. 

 

The soft rumble of a motorcycle shakes her from her reverie and her lips twist and curl as she watches Jughead pull off his helmet and card his fingers through his unruly locks. Betty thinks of the night before, of the feel of those same soft strands twisted in her own fingers and the way his breath puffed across her bare skin. She thinks of the dips and curves of his chest and exactly how they feel beneath the tips of her fingers. 

 

“Hey Betts,” he drawls, the twitch of his lips catching her attention. 

 

“Hi.” It’s definitely not the smoothest thing she’s ever said, but she’s drank her fair share and the warmth seeping into her bones has left her feeling warm and fuzzy. 

 

Arching one brow, he leans in, his lips still curled into the smallest hint of a smile. “You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

 

Suppressing a giggle, she licks her lips and focuses on the way they tingle beneath her tongue. “Mayyybe.” She tries her best to lower her lashes, tilting her chin down and smirking at his answering smile. He’s always called her a lightweight and because she’s just loose enough to set her pride aside, she thinks he’s probably been right all along. 

 

“I think it’s time we took you home.” 

 

He stands and reaches out his hand. Slipping her own sweaty palm against his, Betty tries her best to stand with grace. Despite her best efforts, she stumbles a bit and her hands press against his chest as she tries to balance on the too- high heels Veronica insisted she wear. Betty can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her chest. “I’m sorry, Juggie.” Sticking out her bottom lip just so, she pouts and bats her lashes once more as their eyes meet. 

 

He’s wearing a teasing smile as he says, “No need to be sorry. I like it when you’re tipsy. That brain of yours deserves some time off every now and then.”

 

She tries and fails not to laugh at that. “My brain deserves time off?” 

 

He hums as he nods and the teasing glint in his eyes warms her all over again for an entirely different reason. “You know,” she pauses, letting her hands trail up to toy with the top button of his shirt, “there are other ways to turn it off.”

 

Before she can even process it, his lips press against her own and she leans into his embrace. Over the last few months, she’s learned to read the subtext of his lips. When he’s nervous, it’s soft and sweet, filled with adoration he pours into every press. When he’s happy his lips curve against hers and their smiles meet in the middle before melding into a languid kiss. But now, like this, when his lips slant over her own and his hands grip her hips just a little bit tighter, it means he wants her, needs her, can’t get enough.

 

When they pull back, she whispers three little words. They’ve been bouncing around in her brain for the last month and she knows they’re real, as real as the racing of her heart when his hands are on her skin and the pitter-patter of her pulse every time he looks at her just like this -- like she’s the most precious thing in the world -- and her heart swells at the thought. In half a second the words now hanging between them finally register with her consciousness and she fights the urge to swallow them back down and pretend this never happened. 

 

She’s about to speak again when he whispers, “Betts.” It’s so quiet she’s sure that if the song wasn’t in the process of changing, she’d have missed it entirely.

 

“I know, Jug.” Her fingers slip one button through the hole and her hands drift up his chest to wrap around his neck. “I know you think I’m drunk and I don’t mean it.” She’s still staring at his chest, sucking in a breath before she continues, “But I do. I have for a while, and I’ll tell you again in the morning. Don’t say it back now. I just… I didn’t mean to say it like this. Remind me in the morning and we’ll have a do-over.”

 

When she finally lifts her chin, both his brows are nestled in his hairline and his lips are curled in the softest smile she thinks she’s ever seen. “A do-over?” She huffs a laugh. “I love you, too,” he nearly whispers, “but I’ll tell you again in the morning.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

 


	7. the best laid plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> This is my prompt what about a fic were jug is planning to propose to Betty and has everything planned to propose in a few days but just sees her and can’t wait any longer and is like will you marry me randomly.

Betty had been gone exactly twelve days. Twelve days, fourteen hours, fifty-two minutes, and some odd seconds, but Jughead really wasn’t counting. He simply knew the milk expired a few days after she left. The cereal stash had dwindled and despite his best efforts to go grocery shopping, the pantry still lacked staples he hadn’t realized ran out after a week’s worth of meals. 

It wasn’t that Jughead was dependent on his long term girlfriend. No. Dependent wasn’t  _quite_  the word he’d use. If anyone had asked, he might have called it lucky. He was lucky enough that she regularly filled their home with love and warmth and, of course, generous quantities of amazing food. But most importantly, herself. He wasn’t dependent on her, but her absence was felt acutely. It has been said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but all he felt as the seconds ticked down the final few minutes of separation was an ache rooted deep in his chest that seemed to sink a bit more each day. 

They’d been apart before. She’d attended Columbia the summer after senior year when he’d stayed back in Riverdale to prep for the fall at NYU. Sure, they’d spent all their holidays together since, but they both still enjoyed their autonomy. Alone time was essential to his creative process, after all, and he had his fair share of it with her course load and crippling study schedule. 

But being alone and being lonely had never really been synonymous with Jughead. Solitude was a source of inspiration for him in his younger years. A sense of security and safety he wasn’t offered when shoved into crowds he had never really fit in. For the longest time, being lonely happened more often surrounded by people than in the seclusion of four unoccupied walls. At least, it had been that way  _before_. He’d be the first to admit that every day of the last twelve left him feeling lonelier and lonelier without her there by his side. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known exactly what she’d meant to him before she’d left for this particular trip. They’d been together for years and were more solid than ever. After all, he’d slipped a small velvet box under a pair of boxers about three months ago. It was simply that he’d never felt lonely in all of their time together, never felt her loss quite so acutely. Even though she was only a few hours away, her side of the bed barely smelled like her anymore and he’d decided sometime on day eight that he never wanted that to happen again. 

The door creaked open and he shot out of bed, sock clad feet skidding across tile as he flew through the hall. Then with a hiss and a thump, everything went white. 

Years later, she’d tell everyone he slipped in the kitchen in his haste to greet her when she’d arrived. He’d stepped on Caramel and crashed onto the floor, bumping his head against the side of the cabinets. He’d go on to say he saw stars behind his eyes and when they finally opened there was a literal angel hovering over him, so he simply couldn’t help it. She’d tell everyone that he was loopy and had a bump the size of her fist on the side of his head when he’d said it.  _That_  was why he’d mumbled  _marry me_  with ice pressed to his forehead and her luggage by the door still stuck ajar. 

But no matter how it was recounted over the years though, no matter how many times people would ask, and end up cooing  _awwww_  at the end, he’d always say he knew long before. And when he’d dragged her back to their bedroom and pulled the small black box from his dresser, he wasn’t sure if the thumping in his ears was from the rush of blood to his brain or his nerves, but either way, it hardly even mattered because she’d said  _yes_.


	8. a dream is a wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bettysnooper asked:  
> Oh hey there! I come bearing a prompt. Ok SO, we've seen Jughead have several different kind of dreams featuring Betty, but what about the smutty kind??? *wink*

Her skin felt like the smoothest silk under his palms. Their clothes were strewn across the room, landing in haphazard piles of mixed items to be discovered later. All that mattered in that moment was the feel of her underneath him, her soft curves curled against every inch of him. They’d never been this close before and it made his head spin and his blood boil. Her bare chest was pressing against his and the thin wisp of lace adorning her center felt like heaven as she ground against him. 

“Please, Juggie." 

"Please what?” he rasped, nipping at the flesh of her collarbone.

“Anything.” She was nearly panting, vibrating with a need he could feel down to the marrow in his bones.

Skating his fingers down the curve of her breast, tapping the lines of her ribs, and dipping down to grip her hip he hooked the lace band under a finger and tugged. Slowly, so slowly he thought he might embarrass himself before it was all over, he leaned back, dragging the scrap of lace down her lean limbs. 

Gripping her wrists, he pulled them above her head and simply stared for a moment. Her blonde locks were free of the trademark ponytail, splayed across petal pink sheets that matched the exact hue of her swollen lips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, dipping his head once again to capture her lips in a searing kiss. Blindly reaching behind her, he snapped the clasp of her bra and pulled it off, tossing it aside to join the heaps of discarded clothing. 

He felt her push the band of his boxers past his hips, shimmying out of them as quickly as possible to seal their lips together once more. 

“Are you sure, Betts?” He  _had_ to ask. They’d never been this far before, and though they’d teased the line, it would be their first time.

Cupping his cheeks between her palms, she nodded. “Positive.”

Forcing out a breath, he let his fingers slip from her hips to slide toward her center. “Fuck. You’re dripping, baby.”

Her lips were too busy sucking bruises into the side of his neck to answer, but the bite of her nails against his shoulder blades sent a wave of want coursing through him. 

Letting one finger trace the line of her lips, he spread her open, slowly slipping two digits inside. She gasped against his skin. A groan vibrated straight through his chest as he felt her tense around his fingers. Imagining just how tight she’d feel around other parts had his cock throbbing against her thigh. “You’re so fucking perfect. So tight. So wet. God, I’d fucking live inside of you if you’d let me.” The filthy words dripped from his lips as her arousal coated his fingers. 

He couldn’t even help the cant of his hips against her thigh as his body responded to her every mewl. 

“More." 

He could barely breathe, pulling his fingers back from their steady rhythm and lifting up to catch her gaze. The feel of her warm palm wrapping around his throbbing cock made him gasp as she lined herself up with him.

"Get up, Jug.”

“What?” Had he heard her right? He was fairly certain he was about as up as he could physically be at that moment.

Then he heard it again. 

“Get up, Jug.” Except the voice he heard definitely did not match the siren currently situated under him. A steady pulse was building between his ears when he heard it again - louder this time.

“GET UP, JUG!”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

His eyes snapped open. 

Jughead took a second to wade through the murky depths of his subconscious and grudgingly return to reality. 

“I’m up,” he groaned. Pressing his palms against his face, he slowly roused for the day, wishing he could dive back into what was clearly a dream. A  _fucking fantastic_  dream, but a dream no less.

Looking down, he realized he’d need to clean himself up before he left for school. He groaned again and started the process of stripping the bed and tossing his soiled boxers in the wash for the third time that week.

Dream Betty had been killing him.  _But oh, what a way to go_ , he mused. Maybe the coming weekend with the trailer to themselves he’d finally find out if dreams were better than reality. Though, when it came to Betty, reality always seemed to win out.


End file.
